


Altitude

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Inline with canon, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To hear Takami’s voice on his name here, with the clear air of the mountaintop cool around them, is enough to stick Sakuraba’s breath in his chest, enough to bring his attention veering away from the spectacular view before them to Takami behind him." Takami and Sakuraba visit Mount Fuji again and Takami makes a commitment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Altitude

“This was a really good idea,” Sakuraba says as he takes the lead onto the last set of stairs to the summit of Mount Fuji. “I haven’t been up here since training in high school.”

“Me either,” Takami says from behind him. He sounds a little bit breathless, like he’s having trouble keeping up, but when Sakuraba looks back the other is right at his heels with his head ducked down so he can watch his feet. “It’s nice to visit every now and then, though.”

“It’s prettier than I remember,” Sakuraba says, looking back up the last line of stairs to the flat edge of the summit, to the bright blue of the unobstructed sky waiting for them at the top, and then back, to the dark of Takami’s bowed head and the forward tilt of his shoulders. “Are you okay? We’ve been going pretty fast.”

“Hm?” Takami looks up, his eyes wide on surprise as he blinks up at Sakuraba. For a moment they’re both still on the steps, Takami gazing up at Sakuraba from the stair below him; then he huffs a smile, and ducks his head again as he lifts a hand to adjust his glasses.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding so very nearly like himself that Sakuraba’s momentary concern dissolves away again. “Just because I stopped playing football doesn’t mean I’m completely out of shape.”

“If you’re sure,” Sakuraba grins. He starts to move up the stairs again, taking them at a slightly slower pace than the one they’ve been setting during the rest of their climb. “You always tell me how hard you’re studying, I wouldn’t blame you if you spent all your time hunched over a desk.”

“I’m not that badly off,” Takami tells him, and then he takes two steps at a go to catch up with Sakuraba’s pace. The step isn’t quite wide enough for them both, and Takami’s shoulder bumps Sakuraba’s, the warmth of the contact humming pleasantly all down Sakuraba’s spine. “You seem like you’re having some trouble yourself. Did all that running you do in training wear you out?”

Sakuraba laughs and Takami looks at him sideways, his mouth catching and curving on a smile. There’s still something odd behind his eyes -- a shadow that’s been there since they met up this morning that hasn’t flickered no matter what Sakuraba does -- but the smile is sincere enough that Sakuraba is grinning in response anyway, all his body going weightless-warm in the way it always does when he’s with Takami. It’s been too much of a rarity, between his team practice and Takami’s studying for his medical courses; being able to spend time together like this is unusual, an opportunity to be savoured as much for the simple fact of the other’s company as for the beauty of the setting.

Sakuraba doesn’t dart ahead to prove his point and make it to the summit first, and neither does Takami; maybe some of the warmth in Sakuraba’s veins comes clear in his smile, or maybe Takami’s feeling the same electric pleasure from their point of contact. They take the last handful of steps together, their shoulders pressing together and wrists bumping against each other, and if they don’t quite take each other’s hand the weight of Takami’s fingers pressing against the back of Sakuraba’s makes the desire to do so clear.

It’s beautiful at the summit. Sakuraba only vaguely remembers the view from the last time he was here; mostly he remembers the burn in his chest, the aching need to prove himself and his dedication to football, to the team, to Takami, remembers the crippling sense of unworthiness and the desperate need to rise to the challenge, to become the receiver Takami was waiting for him to be, to be the partner the other man deserved. It’s a distant memory, now, worn thin and threadbare by the years that have passed since, but Sakuraba still remembers the emotion more clearly than the view, still remembers the way the turmoil in his mind stilled and steadied at Takami’s smile more clearly than the effort it cost his training-tired self to climb to the summit that first time. It’s different, now, with Takami already beside him and the years they’ve spent together warming his chest with familiar affection instead of the sharp edge of need; now Sakuraba can step forward without hesitation, can move to the edge of the low wall in front of them and look out over the clouds below with full awareness of where they are.

“This is amazing,” Sakuraba says without turning around to see if Takami is looking out at the same sight he is. “I barely remember this from the last time we were here.”

“I know what you mean,” Takami says. He sounds breathless again, like he’s struggling for air from the altitude, and Sakuraba wonders again if they went too fast, if they shouldn’t have stopped for a break partway to the summit. “I had other things on my mind.”

Sakuraba smiles out over the soft haze of the clouds layered below them. “Yeah.”

Takami takes a breath. It’s a strangely clear sound in the thin air, the weight of it so great it feels like a shout with nothing else but the wind in Sakuraba’s ears. “Haruto?”

It’s not the first time Takami has called Sakuraba by his first name. It’s a fairly regular occurrence during their Skype calls, or when Sakuraba comes to visit Takami’s apartment, or on those rare occasions Takami can take a weekend to visit and Sakuraba can chase his roommates out to give them a few hours of privacy. But usually they fall back to the polite distance of family names, keeping to the familiar appearance of friendship in public the same way they never go any farther than bumping their fingers together when they’re not behind closed doors. To hear Takami’s voice on his name here, with the clear air of the mountaintop cool around them, is enough to stick Sakuraba’s breath in his chest, enough to bring his attention veering away from the spectacular view before them to Takami behind him.

“Taka--” he starts, his eyes going wider with confusion and shock as he turns; and then he sees the way Takami is looking at him, and some deep-down instinct closes off his throat, and inverts the pattern of his speech, and what he says is “Ichiro?” soft, in a whisper barely loud enough for him to hear himself. Takami smiles, sudden and warm and bright; and then he takes a breath, and straightens his shoulders, and when he lifts his chin his eyes are so soft Sakuraba can feel his own throat close up on immediate emotion.

“I’ve thought about this for years,” Takami says, and his voice is gentle but Sakuraba can hear every syllable crystal-clear against the air around them. “When we came up here the first time, with the team, and you told me you had quit your modeling work.” Takami’s expression goes warm for a moment, his gaze hazing with the years-old memory. “It was like a dream coming true right in front of me. I had been waiting for so long and then you were there, with me, and I could hardly believe it was really finally happening.”

Sakuraba swallows. His throat is tense on emotion too tangled for him to piece into separate causes; there’s a weight on his chest like a physical force. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. If I had been faster--”

Takami shakes his head, the movement so immediate it stalls Sakuraba’s familiar apology at his lips. “No,” he says, “no, it was worth it.” He takes a breath and lets it out with deliberate care. “I would have waited for you longer than that.” He glances out past Sakuraba, out over the white of the cloudtops below them, and Sakuraba’s breathing catches in instinctive anticipation of something he can’t put coherent details to.

“I’d wait for you forever,” Takami says, and then he’s looking back, and Sakuraba doesn’t know what it is -- the tremor under Takami’s voice, or the almost-pained hope in his eyes, or the quivering stress at his mouth -- but something falls into place, and he takes a sudden breath of understanding just as Takami takes a step closer to cross the distance between their bodies.

“I wanted to do it here,” Takami says, and he’s reaching out, he’s catching his fingers with Sakuraba’s, and Sakuraba can’t breathe and can’t speak and Takami’s hand is cold in his, Takami’s fingers are trembling very slightly with the adrenaline thrumming under the deliberate control in his voice. “Last time I was here with you you made my dream come true when I--when I thought it was almost impossible.” He lifts his head to blink attention at Sakuraba, and Takami’s eyes are wide and soft and half-frightened but Sakuraba can barely notice the dark of them because he’s starting to cry, he can’t hold back the heat of the tears that are spilling over his lashes to trickle warm across his cheeks. He hiccups a breath, and lifts his hand to press silence over his lips, and Takami’s controlled expression cracks, wavering into a shaky laugh as he reaches up to adjust his glasses as he takes a breath to speak again.

“I was hoping you would do the same again,” he says, and he’s moving, he’s lowering himself to one knee, and Sakuraba wants to watch him, wants to print every detail of this moment into his mind but he can barely see, he’s hissing effort around every breath as Takami draws his hand forward to catch it between the grasp of both his palms as he fits his hold into place around Sakuraba’s fingers. Takami takes another breath, and lets it out slow, and this time when he blinks he steadies his shoulders, bracing himself for the declaration Sakuraba knows is coming.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” he says, his fingers tightening on Sakuraba’s hand, his thumb pressing against the other’s knuckles. “And I--”

“Yes,” Sakuraba blurts, the sound spilling from his throat in spite of the weight of his hand over his mouth. “Yes, Ichiro.”

Takami’s eyes go wide. He coughs himself into a sudden, sharp laugh. “I’d wait for you forever--”

“Yes.”

“--but if you would be my partner in life--”

“Yes.”

“--you’d make me the happiest man in Japan,” and Takami’s laughing, now, delight breaking all across his face like a sunrise. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Sorry,” Sakuraba says, but he’s dragging a sleeve across his face, tightening his fingers around Takami’s hands bracing his. “I know.”

“I had a whole speech planned,” Takami says, but he’s getting to his feet anyway, letting one of his hands go so he can reach out and catch his fingers against the back of Sakuraba’s neck. Sakuraba rubs roughly against the tears at his cheeks, pushing aside the worst of the damp before he shudders a breath and reaches out to press his palm against Takami’s cheek. Takami’s eyelashes flutter, his head tilting in to meet Sakuraba’s touch, and when he smiles it’s soft, spreading out across his whole face to light him up from the inside out. “I’ve had it memorized for days.”

“I’m sorry,” Sakuraba says again, though he’s smiling so wide the apology loses much of its weight. “Did I screw everything up?”

“No,” Takami says, and his fingers slide up into the short-cropped strands of Sakuraba’s hair to brace gentle at the back of his head. “You were perfect.” He’s smiling too, softer than Sakuraba is, his lashes dipping down like they’re fluttering under their own weight as he leans in. “You said yes.” Sakuraba chokes off another laugh, the sound only going a little bit desperate around another wave of emotion, and Takami closes the gap between them to catch Sakuraba’s lips with his. Sakuraba’s laugh stills, his eyes close, and for a moment all the world narrows down to simple details: Takami’s hand in his, Takami’s mouth at his, Takami’s fingers steady and sure against the back of his head.

They’re already at the highest point in Japan. Just at this moment, Sakuraba feels like he’s on top of the entire world.


End file.
